The Flow of Rain
by Pikazoom
Summary: Yamamoto/Hibari. Set in an alternate universe, Yamamoto is an assassin for hire in Japan. While troubled by his lifestyle and his past, he crosses paths with one Hibari Kyouya on the job.
1. Chapter 1: Hitman

Yamamoto stood in the structure, looking around like it was some foreign place. The sunlight was shining in through the windows, revealing millions of particles floating in the air. He ran his finger over a long unused counter and collected some of the settled dust.

"Is anyone in there?" Yamamoto turned around at the sound of the voice. A person at the door.

"Tanaka-san," Yamamoto smiled warmly, "I haven't seen you in a long time." She was an old lady who used to frequent Takesushi. When he was a teenager, she would joke with him that he was growing as much as she was shrinking.

"The door was open," she noted. "Are you going to reopen soon?"

"I'm afraid not. Only my dad was good at it," he laughed.

She frowned. "Ahh, that's too bad. The sushi here was the best." After a little more conversation, she went on her way along the quiet residential road.

Yamamoto sighed. He didn't know what to do with this place. It was true that he had no idea about running the business. At most, he could prepare the rice and fish, but when it came to figuring out the financial side, he was totally lost.

But luckily, or perhaps unluckily, that wasn't the trade he was in. Years ago, even he himself thought he'd be a professional baseball player by now, batting with the best of them, but the reality was that this wasn't his current occupation either.

Yamamoto lifted his bag off the dusty table. He closed the restaurant door behind him. He didn't know when he'd visit next, but he didn't want to sell it either. So it sat and collected dust, devoid of the warmth it used to have on busy Friday nights when regular customers like Tanaka-san filled the chairs.

Maybe one day.

---

"Why come to me? You're style isn't bombing," Gokudera told him while the slow-burning cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down.

Yamamoto leaned on the counter behind him. It was well-stocked with a party assortment of explosive power, everything from grenades to Gokudera's "special recipe" Molotov cocktails. "Actually...I was hoping you had something a little less lethal. Smoke bombs maybe."

Gokudera rummaged through some drawers, trying to remember where they were. "Yeah, I got some. Why do you need them?"

"It's getting a little hard to escape unscathed these days," he replied.

"Here's three. You better pay me back later," Gokudera glared accusingly. "Giving me a stupid, hyperactive cat doesn't count as a fair trade either."

"Oh? But you took him."

Gokudera rolled his eyes. "You told me it was a stray. I didn't think it was payment." He took another whiff of his cigarette.

"Maybe Uri hates you because you smoke," Yamamoto suggested.

"Shamal smokes, and that damn cat loves him," Gokudera shot back bitterly. The cat literally bit the hand that fed him...on multiple occasions.

"Oh, I see," Yamamoto chuckled, which received another admonishing leer. "Anyway, I'll pay you back after my next job."

Gokudera seemed to think about something for a second. "You know my boss' adviser, right?"

"Reborn? Any professional hitman knows his name," Yamamoto replied.

"Yeah, well, I heard he's looking into you."

"Oh? I'm flattered."

"You should be. Seems like he thinks you'd be a good addition to the family."

"The mafia? I've never thought about it."

Gokudera shrugged. "I was raised around it." He put his cigarette into the ashtray near his workstation, only to light another one before placing it in his mouth. "I'm moving back to Italy next month."

"Short notice."

"I've been waiting to go back for awhile," Gokudera responded. "You can come too, if you're interested in working for the Vongola."

Yamamoto raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but a smirk stayed on his face. "You're inviting me?"

"No you idiot!" Gokudera swerved around in his chair to face him. "This is an invitation from Reborn! If it were up to me I'd put that stupid cat in front of your door and leave!" On cue, Uri came out and clawed at its master's shins, leaving Gokudera yelping, cursing, and kicking, all simultaneously. Yamamoto laughed. He enjoyed this place because it was always full of energy, even if it was all of the angry sort.

---

His apartment wasn't much. In fact, it was grievously small. He had a bedroom, a bathroom, and one long room that doubled as a kitchen and living room. He didn't really have a need for more space anyway, but the living room was usually conspicuously disorganized. Stepping over junk, he tossed down his jacket and bag and made his way to the couch.

He flipped casually through the mail. Most of them were bills like usual, but he knew the one at the bottom was special.

The truth was that he was his own neighbor. He rented out the apartment next door too, but that was where the mail with more...questionable content went to. Giving out that address was just a safety precaution, and the hope was that people out to get him would hit that place first. The walls here were fairly thin, so he could stay a step ahead of his would-be attackers as long as their aim was the fake residence. At least...that was the theory he held. He also thought it'd be less conspicuous to any spies if it seemed like he actually lived in the complex. Other people in his line of work often held spare places in different complexes or areas. Aside from that, the next-door space was completely empty. And today, his empty apartment had gotten a job.

He ripped through the seal and opened the envelope printed with security tinting on the inside. Obviously there was some sensitive information in this one. He unfolded its contents and read.

Another yakuza job. They always paid well because it meant his client didn't want to be traced back to the kill. Otherwise, they'd just do it themselves. He guessed they were trying to avoid a war with a rival group.

But he had never heard of this group who had decided to employ him. He found that odd. He had a pretty broad knowledge of yakuza groups, along with their alliances and rivalries, but this one had never been mentioned by any informants.

His target was a boss. That meant the pay was even better, but so was the protection he'd have to break through. He knew the name of the group the boss belonged to. It was relatively small, and it'd probably be wiped out by his clients once his job was completed. That was none of his concern though.

Thankfully, he didn't have to do any digging through informants like some of his less helpful clients made him do. Attached was an address of their current hideout. Stepping over empty boxes, he made his way to his bedroom. He reached into his closet and pushed some shirts out of the way to reach his target: Shigure Kintoki. At the bottom of the closet, his weapon of choice was concealed, kept nicely on a holder. It was well-used, but the blade was still sharp, and the blood it had spilled didn't tarnish its shine.

He started by swinging it around casually a bit, as if to test it, and then in one swift movement, his left hand reached up to grasp the hilt before pulling the sword parallel to his body. His legs were evenly balanced now, ready to move, to slice with his katana. The sword flew as his body glided through all the stances of the Shigure Souen style. He was careful not to scratch the walls, or his landlord would be very unhappy.

The technique his father taught him...it had a certain grace to it. The movements were beautiful and smooth, but it was ultimately a "sword of ruin." He could never forget that.

When night fell, he carefully wrapped up the katana and gathered some necessary things together. It was showtime.

---

The streets of Namimori were fairly busy at night. It was mostly young people, walking around and laughing. Yamamoto felt as though he was going against the stream of them, headed for home or a date while he was off to do his job. It was surprising that Namimori provided so much work for him, although his work sometimes did take him a few train rides away. Maybe people in this town all just held irreconcilable hatred deep down.

He neared his destination, a building near the water. He only had a basic idea about the way his target's yakuza group was structured. The Ubo group, as it was called, was heavily centered around birds for some reason he did not understand. Their tattoos all had various birds as the central part of the image, and the highest members of the group were given code names like "Crane" or "Owl." At the center of the group, was the leader, and his target, who most people on the street called "The Crow."

Okay, so maybe he knew more than a lot of people. Still, he wasn't sure what to expect. He checked himself over one more time. One of Gokudera's smoke bombs in his right pocket, and a concealed gun just in case. It was rare for him to be disarmed though; he was only used to letting go of Shigure Kintoki when performing Yarazu no Ame, but he really disliked using that stance. It seemed like a last-ditch attempt to win, plus it meant retrieving it afterwards. Of course, there was also Samidare, the fifth form, but even then his fingers were off the hilt for only a split second.

He took his time walking around the building, looking for any hints as to how the interior layout looked. He could hear people inside, but he was surprised no one was stationed around the perimeter. They were either overconfident or just very stupid. With most power-hungry people, it tended to be somewhere in between.

He made his way back around to the front of the building. As quietly as he could, he grasped the doorknob and twisted. Unbelievable; it was unlocked. He backed up and looked around just to make sure no one was playing a joke on him.

He took in a deep breath, feeling the night chill combined with the coolness from the nearby water fill his chest. When he exhaled, his sword was ready to strike, and he kicked the door open.

---

Yamamoto had a rule: only kill the target. But that hadn't stopped him from giving the henchmen a thorough thrashing with the blunt side of his katana. The room was surprisingly bloodless given that he was surrounded by a multitude of unconscious men. They definitely hadn't been expecting company, and most of them hadn't been very good at fighting either.

He wiped some sweat off his forehead, glancing at the watch on his wrist. Damn, it had taken him awhile to get through these guys. Chances are that his target had already escaped out some covert route. Still, he had to make sure. He gripped Shigure Kintoki with both hands and ran for the next room.

Something yellow whizzed past his head. He stopped abruptly. It wasn't a bullet, not fast enough. To his surprise though, it came back around. It was a bird. And it was singing. It was a tune that sounded familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

The creature had thrown off his guard, and he was almost unprepared for the attack that came next. Almost as fast as the bird had moved, another figured burst through the doorway. He blocked the first strike, hearing metal screech angrily against metal, but then another blow struck his right arm down, and his body moved unintentionally forward, where he was given a strike to the side of his head before a painful kick to the gut with a foot. With his head swimming, he couldn't be sure, but it had certainly felt like he had flown halfway across the room.

"Ugh..." he groaned out. Some poor crony he had beaten up earlier had gotten in between his meeting with the floor. He gripped his katana tighter and rolled to knees.

"Another herbivore." Yamamoto looked up. Still standing near the door was presumably the person who had just given him more bruises than the roomful of huge men. The yellow bird landed nonchalantly on the man's shoulder. "This won't take long." He sounded bored, and he had obviously halted his attack without much expectation.

Yamamoto rose to his feet, shaking out the pain in his arm. "Haha," he laughed, although he wasn't sure why, and it only seemed to agitate his opponent more. The grip he had on his tonfas tightened, and the bird took flight again

"Let's go," Yamamoto said calmly, and his face hardened. He couldn't use the blunt side of his sword for this one, he was sure. Gripping the hilt tightly, he rushed in.

Quick analysis, Yamamoto thought to himself as he was forcefully repelled again. His opponent essentially used three weapons: a pair of tonfas and whichever shoe he felt like getting dirty. At least he wasn't wearing baseball cleats, Yamamoto thought to himself. His opponent also thought on his feet; he saw openings and attacked them before Yamamoto could defend. He was also hesitant to use the forms of the Shigure Souen style for this reason. He was fairly sure he'd only be able to use them once each, twice at most, so he had to choose the moments to unleash them cautiously.

Sure, his father had told him it was an invincible style, but the truth was that Yamamoto believed the wielder ultimately held the deciding factor. While he only considered himself good at baseball, his father excelled at the sword, something that had also aided in his sushi preparation.

His opponent clearly wasn't taking him seriously. He never moved from the door and didn't follow through with more chains of attacks once Yamamoto was knocked back.

Yamamoto moved to his feet again, but his opponent shot him a look that said, "Stop wasting my time." Given the situation, Yamamoto was more than happy to comply.

He rushed again, and his opponent brought his tonfas up to his chest, ready to strike. Like a batter trying to reach the base, he purposefully lost his footing and slid on the floor, knocking the other's feet out from under him in the process. They both recovered quickly, but Yamamoto hit the next blow first. Using the blunt end of the blade, he whacked it hard against the back of the other man's knee joint before rolling out of the way of a tonfa strike.

His opponent's knees hit the ground. He looked vaguely surprised, then angry. "I don't need your mercy," he spat. He crouched low, before pushing off on the ground and moving in for a fast hit. Yamamoto met force with force as he stopped one tonfa using the base of his blade. In an incredible show of strength, he pushed the metal rod away, deflecting its incoming partner in the process. His opponent's body turned, and in that moment he had the opportunity to strike, to kill with a slash through a slender, pale neck. Instead, he repeated the same move he had performed against the man's knee, this time choosing to hit the bend of his right elbow. The tonfa gripped in the corresponding hand cluttered to the floor, but a fist came up to hit him square in the face. Temporarily blinded, Yamamoto darted out of range, breaking the rally.

When his face stopped burning, he saw his opponent holding his right arm, but he had picked up the other half of his weapon again.

"What's your name?" Yamamoto asked. It was out of the blue, cutting into the tension that had built up.

With the expression he was receiving, he wasn't sure he was going to get a reply, but after being sized up again, he got his response. "'Skylark.'"

Yamamoto grinned. "So you are one of them. I thought you were just a bodyguard or something." The enormous gap in skill between the other men and this "Skylark" had also been a factor in this faulty reasoning.

"I'm not weak."

"You know, skylarks are nice birds," Yamamoto commented, ignoring the other's train of thought entirely. "I think I like swallows better though."

"I don't care." His tonfas were raised like bared teeth. "Skylark" charged, impatient with all the useless talk, but right before his fists could make contact, his forearms changed directions and the tonfas rotated out from underneath them. They struck Yamamoto, who was caught off guard by the trick. From there, the attacks didn't stop. He was hit with a flurry of spinning strikes along with a few high kicks to the side of the head dispersed in between. Yamamoto attempted to block, but the speed at which the attacks changed course was astounding. And he wasn't being blown back anymore; the goal was now to keep him in striking distance now. His opponent had apparently gotten serious.

Yamamoto spun the sword in his hand, changing the way he held the hilt. "Shibuki Ame," he called, spinning in a circle. The other was repelled by the move but managed to jump back gracefully.

"Skylark" didn't waste time moving in again. Yamamoto mentally cursed as he barely had time to bring his sword up to block the next hit. They were going to have to fight to the death at this rate, and he had a feeling who would be the victor. He laughed nervously at the thought even as he received a tonfa blow to the shoulder.

He had to get out. Using his left forearm, he blocked a painful hit before reaching around and grabbing onto his attacker's wrist. The other arm swooped in, but Yamamoto pushed forward and trapped that one between a wall and his body.

"Sorry," he said with an apologetic smile, an odd gesture to give in this situation for anyone other than him. Yamamoto turned his wrist up and slammed the katana hilt straight into his opponent's temple. The other man lost his balance but broke his fall using his hands, and Yamamoto took this opportunity to back up quickly over to where he had entered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handy gift from Gokudera. "See you around." He pulled the pin, tossed it towards the yakuza member, and was out the door before the smoke even started spewing. Yamamoto didn't look back.


	2. Chapter 2: Operation

Yamamoto spent the next day recuperating. He was in no hurry; he had a month to finish his hit job. He was splayed haphazardly on his futon for most of the morning in a cycle of sleeping, waking up, rolling over in pain, and closing his eyes for more rest. By afternoon, he was standing shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror examining his now visible bruises. They were scattered erratically over his body, but his forearms and chest seemed especially battered. His fingers ran over the darkened marks lightly, feeling dull pains in response to his touches.

He laughed. "He packs quite a punch." Despite his body's protests, he stretched out his arms before twisting side to side like warming up for a baseball match. It didn't feel like anything was broken or fractured. Still, maybe he could con Shamal into giving him a check up.

Yamamoto grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it over his head with a groan. He ambled back over to the bedroom and laid back down. His back and shoulder muscles expanded and compressed with a dull throbbing accompanying every small motion. He sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled black hair. Just a little more rest.

---

The day after, the bruises were already starting to heal, and he felt much better. He was out on the streets again, asking around about the movements of his target. Usually no crime boss was dumb enough to stay in the same spot after an attempted assassination, so now he was on the hunt.

The sky was dark now. He had only started searching at mid-day, spending the morning continuing his restful snooze. In a shady business like his though, he actually preferred to work at night.

He had stopped off to see Gokudera too. Gokudera especially hated it when he dropped by with no real purpose, accusing him of just wanting to bother someone.

"Go talk to Shamal if you like pestering people so much!" Gokudera had snapped.

Yamamoto had laughed. "Maybe I should. Those bombs of yours came in handy by the way."

"You used them already?"

"Just one. The bad guys were really tough this time."

Gokudera had scoffed. "'Bad guys?' You're one to talk." Yamamoto had just grinned in reply.

He checked his watch. Should he get ramen or curry tonight? He had a possible lead on his target's movements, so he decided to relax for now. He knew of a good ramen stall, so he turned a corner and headed in that direction.

Amidst the chatter of workers going home or to drink, his ears picked up a faint high-pitched sound. His walking slowed as he idly looked around, trying to pinpoint its origin. It was a song. That familiar song from a couple of nights ago, and if he wasn't mistaken, the vocalist was also the same.

At first chance, he ducked into a space between two buildings. The narrow pathway was somewhat ominous, but he headed down it anyway. He parted his lips into an 'o' shape and started whistling. He mimicked the bird's tune as best as he could, but some parts were too high for him.

After one round of the song, he stopped and listened. The bird had gone silent, or maybe it had moved out of his hearing range. He looked around, but he only saw crows giving off menacing caws. Then he heard a light flapping noise, much softer than a big black bird's wings would make.

He reshaped his mouth, preparing to start another verse, but then a yellow ball of fuzz flew by. It made a U-turn midair and came back around. Yamamoto laughed as it landed on his shoulder and folded its wings in. They were looking at each other expectantly.

"What's your name?" Yamamoto queried. He reached out his hand to brush against its soft down, but it gave the back of his palm a vicious peck. It ruffled its feathers at him impatiently.

"Ah...something wrong?" The bird took off from his shoulders. It didn't fly up into the sky like a frightened bird might do but instead remained at Yamamoto's eye level. Was that a signal to follow? Curious like a cat, he trailed it.

The bird was undoubtedly smart. It only led Yamamoto through the less-populated roads of Namimori and seemed to have a clear destination in mind. Heck, Yamamoto kind of wanted one for himself. It would be very useful for quick getaways.

It gave one last chirp before turning into an alleyway and disappearing. Yamamoto slowed down and finally chose to question why exactly it had led him here. At least he had his sword with him, wrapped carefully and slung over his shoulder. He kept his hand poised behind him, ready to draw his weapon from its makeshift sheath. With carefully placed steps, he headed for the alley.

"That's not what I asked for." The bird was perched on the speaker's shoulder, already gone back to preening itself.

Yamamoto grinned. "Nice to see you again."

"Skylark" glowered back at him despite not being in the best shape at the moment. He was partially propped up against one of the alley walls, taking in slow, deep breaths. His hands were bloody, and one of his arms was draped over his torso, clutching the source of the crimson stains. His tonfas were on the ground next to him, but the long end on one of them had been shattered and the other appeared to have a sizeable dent.

"Our weapons don't stand up very well to guns," Yamamoto commented. Giving the other man a once-over in the dim lighting, he saw two bullet wounds, one off to the right side of his abdomen and the other into his left leg. They probably hadn't hit anything vital, as "Skylark" was still conscious and the same as before.

"Speak for yourself," "Skylark" responded, "I'm not weak like you." Yamamoto found it strange that he made no movement to get up. He was just lying there like he was waiting for something. Maybe the rest of his group. Maybe death.

"You should go to the hospital."

The other shifted. "I'm fine." "Skylark" gripped onto the wall behind him and dragged his body toward it. He kept his left leg still, and Yamamoto could see a distinctive sheen in the light from the blood that had absorbed into the other's black slacks. He was sitting in a small pool of his own blood too. He couldn't have been lying here long or else, well, he'd have been dead by now, but at the same time, Yamamoto didn't remember hearing any gunshots.

"It doesn't look like it."

The other man shot Yamamoto a baneful look. "Just leave me alone." Using the wall for balance, his right leg slid through the pool of blood and underneath his body. He stood up slowly and let his left leg remain limp as he rose. For a moment he seemed okay, but then he bent over, clutching his abdomen. He coughed, and Yamamoto could see blood dribbling down the sides of his mouth.

"Well?" "Skylark" snapped after his coughing spell had been momentarily appeased. Yamamoto noticed that his teeth were stained red with his own sanguine fluid. It made the other man look much more feral and wild, he thought to himself.

"I'm waiting for you to pass out from blood loss so I can take you to get fixed up." Yamamoto leaned up against a wall so that he was across from "Skylark's hunched form. He looked like he had all the time in the world as he stood there, casually pretending to check the time on his watch.

The other man's face was obscured in the dim light of the alley, but he still wasn't standing straight. Between the busy sounds of night in Namimori, Yamamoto could hear struggling breaths echoing off the walls around him.

"Skylark" spit off in some random direction, trying to get the excess blood out of his mouth. "Not the hospital," he rasped. It seemed his wounds were more serious than they had both initially thought. "Can you do that?" Perhaps he didn't want to deal with the hospital staff once they saw his tattoos that tied him to his yakuza group. That was the only reason Yamamoto could think of.

"No problem," Yamamoto replied, finally moving off the building. "Let me carry you."

"Skylark" moved away. "Just take me there," he hissed, "I don't want anything else from you."

"You can't run like that," Yamamoto protested, gesturing towards the other's injured leg and then the wound in his torso. "It'll be faster."

"I-"

"You've already lost a lot of blood. How much longer do you think you can last?" Yamamoto only had a vague idea of their current location; it would take some time to reorient himself properly on top of getting to their destination.

"Skylark" was silent and still for some time. Yamamoto guessed he was evaluating the situation, gauging how much he really needed another human's assistance. He finally stepped forward but said nothing.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Yamamoto grinned. He wrapped around to Skylark's side, but his every step was being watched disdainfully. He placed one arm behind the other man's knees and the other on his back. Yamamoto lifted him new-bride style but conveniently decided not to state this out loud. The bird, which had been sitting patiently on its master's shoulder the whole time, took off into the air. Yamamoto shifted his arms and adjusted the weight distribution until it felt more comfortable.

Time to go.

---

"Do you know what ti-what the-"

"Go get Shamal," Yamamoto commanded between short pants. It hadn't been that far to here from the alley, but considering that he had been running with "Skylark" in his arms the whole way, he was pretty exhausted. Gokudera was wearing a confused expression, but he nodded and disappeared back into the house, leaving the door open.

Yamamoto took this opportunity to enter. His companion, who he was still holding, was surprisingly still awake and alert. He hadn't said a word during the trip, although his eyes had been darting around, taking in the scenery...or perhaps looking for people who wanted to finish the fight?

"What, what is it?" Shamal complained with a resounding yawn as he entered the room. Yamamoto used his elbow to push things off Gokudera's work table before laying "Skylark" on top of it. Gokudera looked disgruntled, although he still seemed shocked. Sometimes Yamamoto brought himself in looking worse for wear, but he never came with someone else.

"Patient," Yamamoto explained quickly. "Two gunshot wounds, both bullets still inside."

Shamal took one glance at "Skylark" and groaned. "Not a woman? What a shame."

Yamamoto laughed, a strange contrast to all the blood that had dripped onto his clothes. "There aren't many women in the yakuza."

"I know, I know."

"How about this," Yamamoto grinned, "I'll take you to a hostess club sometime."

Shamal visibly perked up at this. All traces of sleepiness vanished in a split second. "I'm holding you to that," he responded. "You!" he pointed at Gokudera, "Go get the anesthesia machine."

"I don't need it," "Skylark" protested, his first words in a long time. They were, however, easily overlooked due to bickering.

"What? Why me?!" Gokudera complained.

"Who's letting you stay and blow shit up in his house for free, huh?!" Shamal shot back. "And don't forget my surgical gear!" While Gokudera hurried out complaining, Shamal reached under the table and pulled out some things. He reached over to Gokudera's desk and grabbed the cigarette lighter placed on it. He used it to light a lone candle that was now sitting on the edge of the makeshift surgery table. "For sterilization," he explained to Yamamoto.

"Hey." "Skylark" grabbed Shamal's wrist and squeezed hard. He did not like being ignored. "I don't need anesthetic. Just do the procedure," he growled.

Shamal tugged his wrist away. "Stubborn, eh?" He reached under the table again.

"Here's all your stuff," Gokudera mumbled, coming back into the room with an assortment of things in his arms.

"Nighty-night!" Shamal declared. Before his patient could react, Shamal gripped "Skylark's" chin and shoved a wet cloth over his mouth and nose. A pair of frantic and angry hands reached up and tried to resist him but lost strength and went limp before long.

"What the hell did you do?!" Gokudera asked.

"Chloroform works much faster," Shamal replied with a devious smirk. "Now run the anesthetic." He turned to Yamamoto. "Undress him." Shamal grabbed his surgical equipment and outfit and started preparing on Gokudera's work desk. With the three of them in the room, it seemed a little crowded.

Yamamoto unbuttoned "Skylark's" shirt as fast as he could while Gokudera placed the mask for the anesthetic over the patient's head.

"By the way," Shamal spoke while pulling on some gloves, "You know his blood type?"

"I don't," Yamamoto responded. He gently lifted up "Skylark's" limp body, cradling the head, and slid the bloody jacket and shirt off of him. He was face-up on the table, but Yamamoto could see part of the tattoo that marked his loyalty to the yakuza group. Over his left shoulder, a long brown wing draped down the man's arm. Yamamoto laid him gently back on the table.

"He'll probably need a transfusion." Shamal looked back at Yamamoto. "What are you?"

"O. Universal donor."

"Positive or negative?"

"I don't know."

"Most people are positive, but I guess we'll be taking our chances." He turned around and started sterilizing some of his metal tools over the candle fire.

"I'm just going to remove the bullets and patch him up," Shamal explained while Yamamoto carefully removed "Skylark's" pants, trying to keep the left leg as motionless as possible. "It would have been better to go to a hospital, you know."

"He didn't want to go," was Yamamoto's simple reply. He pulled out a wallet from the bloody pants. This was useful.

"Pickpocketing now?" Gokudera asked sarcastically.

"No," Yamamoto laughed, "I just wanted to know his name."

Gokudera spun around, "You brought a stranger here?!" Yamamoto could be stupid on his own time; he didn't need to bring it here!

"Hmmm..." He opened it, skipping past miscellaneous credit cards and such, going straight for the identification. "No...Hibari Kyouya is an acquaintance." He shut the wallet.

"I'm kicking you guys out now," Shamal interrupted. "I'll call when I need you, Yamamoto."

Gokudera and Yamamoto wandered to the living and sat themselves down on the shoddy couch positioned in front of the TV. Gokudera always complained about it, but Shamal never threw it out.

"Did you think about the offer?" Gokudera asked while lighting a new cigarette.

Yamamoto leaned back. "Not really."

Uri darted out from under the couch, clearly upset by the compression of space caused by their sitting. The cat latched itself onto Gokudera's leg and hissed.

"What the-" Gokudera kicked his leg out to throw Uri off but slammed it into the table in the process. He let out a heavy string of curses. Yamamoto laughed. This was like routine by now. Uri always found something to feel indignant about and then took it out on its owner, which in turn made said owner angry.

"Stupid cat," Gokudera muttered. He finally plucked Uri off his leg by the back of the neck and placed it between him and Yamamoto on the couch. The two humans reached over to pet it, and they got contented purrs in return. On the other hand, cat and owner were actually quite fond of each other...they just didn't like to admit it.

There was silence for awhile, with the exception of Uri's mewls and the occasional clink of metal in the next room. "So who's the guy?" Gokudera asked.

"Yakuza."

Gokudera shot him a suspicious look. "I thought you didn't associate with them." Well, it wasn't like being in with mafia was much better.

"I don't," Yamamoto shrugged. "I met him on the job."

"Doesn't mean you have to save him."

"Well..." Yamamoto laughed sheepishly, "That's true."

"Yo, get in here." Shamal had appeared in the room, his surgical gloves bloody from operation. He signaled to Yamamoto.

"How is he?" Yamamoto asked.

"Still breathing, if that's what you're asking," Shamal replied. "I removed the bullets. They didn't hit anything vital, but he needs some juice." Shamal held out a needle attached to a tube. He had both ends in his hand, but the other would go into the recipient. "Find your vein."

Yamamoto stood around the operation table and watched the deep crimson liquid flow out into the tube. It was a little morbid but kind of interesting to watch at the same time. He alternated between clenching and unclenching his fist, imitating a real blood donation. Meanwhile, Shamal hovered over Hibari, finishing up the operation before stitching him up. When he was done, he yawned. He was ready to go back to sleep.

"Feeling woozy?" Shamal asked as he dislodged the needle from Yamamoto's arm.

"A little," he laughed.

Shamal removed his gloves but was careful not to get any blood on his hands. "You should eat something then."

"Maybe later."

"You got something else to do?" Shamal raised an eyebrow at him.

Yamamoto laughed as he wrapped some bandages and gauze tightly over his needle puncture. "I have...unfinished business." He picked up his sword which he had left on Gokudera's desk. "I'll come by in the morning to check on him."

Shamal gave him a dismissive wave, and Yamamoto left the building. Looking up, he saw Hibari's yellow bird perched on the edge of the roof. It wasn't singing like before, but it was awake and looking down at him with beady eyes.

"Were you here the whole time?" Yamamoto asked. "He just needs some sleep."

Yamamoto turned away and walked back into the streets. He had work to do.


	3. Chapter 3: Customer

"He's gone?" Yamamoto asked, seeming quite surprised.

Gokudera spun in his chair. He had his work table back at least. "Yeah, he must've woken up under the anaesthesia and run off. At least he didn't steal anything." Gokudera had checked. Thoroughly.

"How could anyone sleep last night? There was that damn bird outside singing the whole time," Shamal complained, giving off another yawn. "Should've sent the cat after it."

"I wonder where he went."

"He probably shouldn't be walking around on that leg, but it's not my concern anymore," Shamal told him. "If he's smart, he'll take some down time." He pointed at Yamamoto. "And same to you. You gave a lot of blood."

"But I feel okay."

"Whatever." Shamal shrugged. "Just make sure you don't faint on the job."

Yamamoto grinned. "Not even I'm that careless. Besides, I don't have any targets right now."

---

Every once in awhile, Yamamoto brought out his father's knives and bought some fish from Takesushi's old providers. They were always glad to see Yamamoto and liked to joke around with him about when he was younger. He usually only made sushi for special occasions, like for Shamal or Gokudera's birthdays and such. At those times, even Uri got a few pieces of fish.

It was hard to cook portions for only one person, so Yamamoto often just ended up eating ramen, whether it be the instant sort or at a restaurant. Sometimes he had other things, like curry or American fast food, but he wasn't too picky.

The rice was almost done, just cooling off to the right consistency for sushi, and Yamamoto was carefully cutting up the raw fish. He had already prepared the assortment of vegetables, and the pack of nori from the store was sitting off to the side, but he hadn't really decided what kind of sushi to make. Well, if he felt really bored, he'd just experiment a little. He'd create the Yamamoto roll, he declared jokingly to himself.

As previously stated, the walls in the apartment weren't that thick, and Yamamoto began to pick up a noise from outside. It sounded like someone pounding on one of the neighbors' doors. No...it sounded more like they were pummeling it down. Curious, he put down the knife in his hand and went to go take a peek.

It wasn't his door, that much he could tell, but as he got closer to his own entranceway he realized it was coming from next door. Specifically, the vacant spare apartment under his name.

Yamamoto opened his door and stepped out just in time to see the other one being kicked down, effectively tearing the hinges off the frame. He winced. He was going to have to pay for that.

"Hi there," he greeted cheerfully, although his mind was still on paying the landlord.

Hibari stared at him a good long moment, then had to check the apartment number of the place he had just broken into. Nope, it was still correct.

"You can just leave it like that," Yamamoto laughed. Hopefully he could fix it himself later and no one would complain. "No one's living there."

The yellow bird, which had been flying previously, perched on its master's shoulder. Hibari reached into his suit's inner pocket and pulled out a small card. "There's a typo," he stated before storming past Yamamoto and tossing aforementioned card in his general direction. It fought against the air but only ended up at its target's feet. Yamamoto picked it up.

It was the business card he had conveniently slipped into the other's wallet. He actually had two sets of cards, one for regular everyday people, and the other...well, the other one had a slightly different job description on it. Gokudera used to tell him he was pretty meticulous for an idiot.

"Would a hitman put his real address?" Yamamoto grinned. He would have invited Hibari in, but the other man had already done that on his own.

"So you use the one next door?" Hibari challenged.

"Well, yeah," he replied. Hibari gave him a look containing a combination of exhasperation and displeasure, but then his attention turned to being disgusted at the state of Yamamoto's apartment.

"Why did you give me that card?" Hibari glared.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't stick around," Yamamoto replied with a knowing grin. Hibari, annoyed by this answer, brought his arms up while brandishing a new pair of tonfas not yet scratched in combat.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't bite you to death. You invited me, after all." His lips curled into a smirk.

'Bite him to death?' What an odd expression. "How's your leg?" Yamamoto asked, changing the subject. While stepping over some empty cups of instant ramen, he moved a little closer to the kitchen area.

Hibari charged, and next thing Yamamoto knew, his back was pressed against his refrigerator with a tonfa under his chin and a hand grasping his shirt collar. "I said-"

"I don't see why you have to," Yamamoto mused, "I mean, I took out your boss while you were sleeping and everything, so now you can take over if you wanted to, right? You seem to be stronger than everyone else."

"I have no interest in leading herbivores." Hibari pulled away from Yamamoto, and the tension in the air eased just a sliver. Was that an acceptable answer?

"But you don't mind working with them?"

"If they don't get in my way."

"Makes sense, I guess." Yamamoto idly kicked a few things on his floor around into a pile, starting to feel a more conscious about the mess because of the way Hibari kept glaring at it.

Hibari tapped an empty instant ramen cup towards Yamamoto with the tip of his shoe, and the other couldn't resist giving a chuckle at this. "Is there a reason you wanted to see me?" Hibari questioned again.

"Besides making sure you're okay? Not really."

Silence, and then, "I'm leaving." Hibari made his way over to the door and kicked things in his path aside as he did so.

"Ah, wait!" Yamamoto reached over and grabbed his arm. Hibari reacted sharply, jerking his captured appendage away.

"Don't touch me," he threatened.

Yamamoto pulled his hand away. "Sorry." He wondered what the sudden change of heart was. He was carrying the other in his arms just last night. Guess life or death situations made a big difference in everything but trust.

"I wanted to know," he started, "...if maybe you'd like some sushi?" Yamamoto had gotten a lot of free fish from some of the older workers due to their joy in seeing him. It was more than he needed.

Hibari gave him a long, hard stare. "From a convenience store?"

"Handmade." Yamamoto smiled, leaning against the fridge. "My dad used to run a sushi place." A longer stare. Then Hibari's gaze redirected to kitchen counters, the only place in the apartment that was currently well-organized.

Hibari didn't seem to be biting. He had to really sell it. Yamamoto took in a breath. "Irrashaimase!" he cried. "What would you like, okyakusama?"

Hibari seemed unimpressed, as his face didn't change at all. Then, "Maguro, Hamachi, Shake, Unagi...and tea."

"You got it," Yamamoto replied. He looked at the dining area. "Umm...this place is kind of messy. Maybe you should wait next door?" Normally he didn't use the other apartment, but right now the collecting dust was probably less of a hindrance.

Hibari turned around and walked out, but not before he kicked around more of the things on the floor. The bird on his shoulder was preening itself again, apparently unconcerned with the status of the room like its master was.

Yamamoto shrugged and put a kettle on the stove. He'd never figure that guy out.

---

Yamamoto held a wooden plate in each hand. On the surfaces were chopsticks, sushi, complimentary wasabi and ginger, and heavy ceramic cups steaming with the scent of green tea. He stepped carefully over the broken door, making sure not to trip over the edge, before delivering the platter to a, quite frankly, bored-looking Hibari. He apparently did not appreciate the dust either, as there was a clean circle surrounding his sitting space.

"Sorry there's no table in here." Hibari said nothing. He gave his plate an intense gaze of scrutiny, looking for a single grain of rice out of place that he could criticize.

Hibari was a food conniseur no doubt. He ate every piece slowly, taking in texture and flavor. His face remained stoic, although that appeared to be his usual expression anyway, evaluating silently. When Yamamoto had invited him, he had had no idea that his lack of proper practice was going to be tested. Still Yamamoto was rather fascinated and amused by Hibari's behavior, so much so that he was watching the other rather conspicuously while eating. Meanwhile, Hibari either did not take notice or did not care.

Yamamoto was snapped out of his reverie when Hibari finally put his chopsticks down, neat and together.

"What did you think?" Yamamoto chanced.

Hibari did not even do so much as glance at him. "It was...good." Coming from a person like Hibari, who didn't seem the type to butter up words, that probably meant he liked it quite a bit.

"Really? I'm glad," Yamamoto grinned. He gobbled down the last of his sushi, then offered his plate that had a few spare fish pieces to Hibari's pet bird. The bird hopped right off of its owner's shoulders and onto the plate before starting to peck at its meal. Hibari said nothing regarding this.

"How are your wounds?" It had been only been a couple days since the operation, bu considering how Hibari had broken down the door earlier, Yamamoto figured he was doing fine.

"It's none of your concern," Hibari snapped.

"Of course it is," Yamamoto interjected. "I saved your life; don't I have the right to ask?"

"I would've been fine without you," Hibari told him hostilely.

Yamamoto shrugged. He didn't know about that. "I was just worried."

"Don't be." Hibari's bird was now perched at the edge of the plate preening, having finished his dinner treat.

Hibari didn't make a move to get up like Yamamoto was expecting. Instead, he started unbuttoning his suit jacket. He slipped it off and placed it in his lap. He probably didn't want to get it dusty. His white dress shirt underneath had a few splotches of blood leaking through. Hibari unbuttoned it too but left it on.

"You need to rebandage it," Yamamoto commented. There was still quite a bit of blood, but most of it looked dry, so he was hoping that was just because it needed to be changed. "Wait here, I'll grab some stuff."

Yamamoto literally darted to his apartment and back. He wasn't sure the other was actually going to stay, so he snatched up his first aid kit from under a pile of clothes and semi-vaulted over the growing mountain of ramen cups to get back.

When he looked though, Hibari was still in the same spot, same position as before. The only difference was that the yellow bird was now perched on its usual shoulder spot. Yamamoto almost sighed with relief.

"How's your leg?" Yamamoto asked as he sat back down. His hands reached out, probably more unabashedly than they should have been, and worked on undoing Hibari's bandages.

Hibari closed his eyes when Yamamoto's fingers brushed against his skin. "It's fine." Yamamoto shuffled closer so that he could reach all the way around Hibari to switch which hand held the growing clump of red bandages. He slowly removed the gauze pad last and bundled it up with the rest of the discarded material.

Yamamoto had gotten quite good at first aid, having been injured on the job enough times to have frequent practice. Sometimes his policy of only killing the target really came back to bite him in the ass. He barely had any scars on him though, which was good since it prevented normal people from getting suspicious.

Yamamoto looked over Hibari's healing wound. It didn't appear to be infected, but it was still bleeding a bit. He placed a new piece of gauze over the bullet wound, this one a little smaller than the last, and ran a bandage around Hibari's torso to hold it in place.

"Here," Yamamoto offered up a gauze pad still in its sterile packaging and the leftover bandages. "For your leg." It was far too awkward and perverse to ask the other to take off his pants too; he knew better.

"Are you done?" Hibari asked, but was calmly buttoning up his shirt without getting the answer. His eyes darted towards the offerings, but he did not take them. Instead he stood up and headed for the still-fallen door, jacket bundled in his arms and bird on his shoulder. He stepped on the, not caring that he could possibly break it. It creaked beneath his feet, and Yamamoto winced.

"Yeah, I guess so." It didn't seem like he had a choice at this point anyway.

Hibari stopped at the doorway. Without looking back, "Why do you care?"

"Ah?" Yamamoto paused. "I don't know. Is there a reason I shouldn't?" He grinned, although the other couldn't see.

Hibari seemed to accept this answer. He walked out, and the bird on his shoulder gave a Yamamoto a happy chirp from his shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4: The Lonely Man

A/N: I'd just like to say another thanks to my reviewers, especially the repeat offenders! ^^ I really appreciate them, even though I don't always respond.

**The Lonely Man**

Yamamoto fixed up the door, and the landlord was none the wiser. There were a couple suspicious footprints on it that he had yet to scrub off though.

The payment for his services had mysteriously arrived at the vacant apartment the day after the incident with Hibari. Quite a large sum; he was set for a little while. He didn't have any jobs at the moment either, so there he was, relaxing on his couch.

He had to wonder about what had happened to Hibari. Had his attackers been targetting the boss like him, or had they been going for Hibari specifically? Maybe his own teammates had done it, though for what reason he had no idea. Any way he looked at it, Hibari being injured had definitely helped him out.

Yamamoto suddenly found himself in a cleaning frenzy. Was it because he had had a guest over for once? He had no idea. He got rid of all the empty instant food containers and organized everything. By the time he had finished doing all of that though, he had been too tired to clean the adjacent apartment too. Thus, the footprints and dust remained.

Yamamoto collapsed into his futon when he finally surrendered to the neverending battle against entropy. He turned his head so that it was facing the closet. The clothes were parted, revealing Shigure Kintoki resting in its sheath.

Right above it, however, was a large picture frame. It was hung on the back wall of the small closet, giving it the impression of a hidden shrine. He had taken it off of Takesushi's walls after his father had passed away. His father had treasured it. It was a painting of a perched swallow surrounded by beautiful flowers that Yamamoto could not identify. None of his customers had known the origin of it.

That painting was a copy of the tattoo on his father's back. Yamamoto as a child had liked to laugh and pound on it for some odd reason, but his old man had just laughed and picked him up every time. His father had been part of the yakuza up until Yamamoto was born. His father used to tell him about the spirit of yakuza as men who ensured justice. Then he would shake his head and tell him things had changed since then; so many more were interested in territory and underhanded trades these days than acting as vigilante enforcers of order.

His father was precisely the reason he knew so much in depth but sometimes outdated information about his targets. The last hit in particular, had been part of the group his father had belonged to (hence gaining the name "Swallow"). Yamamoto felt no guilt, the old leader his father had respected had long since left. Deceased or retired in some way; Yamamoto didn't know. All that had been left was a struggle between old values and the temptation of money and greed.

Was what he was doing justice? Hardly. He was more like a rogue. Good or bad, he killed them all. What would his father, who had heavily discouraged his son from following in his footsteps, have thought if he were still alive?

But Yamamoto knew deep down that he wouldn't have gotten into this business at all if his father were still here.

---

"So you ordered your own death?" The house was completely dark, but the windows were all opened and the doors were all unlocked. No security detail either. An open invitation. A cool breeze drifted in, blowing against the curtains gently.

"The money's on the table." The man's back was to him.

It was rare that they actually talked to him. Most of them preferred to be executed in their sleep. "Do you have any preferences?"

"I don't care. I'm lonely. I'm tired."

"Why not do it yourself?"

"Don't want to disappoint." The guy chuckled bitterly.

Yamamoto's grip on Shigure Kintoki tightened. Time to go to work. Like the cautionary tale against naming animals you intend on giving away, Yamamoto didn't like to get too close to people who were known targets.

"I'll make it quick."

"Thank you."

---

The job had been quite the train ride away. Yamamoto was on his way back now, taking in all the scenery. He enjoyed watching the big cities dissolve into the greenery the further away from the heavily urban areas he got. Quite a contrast within a small, crowded country, he always thought to himself.

The train was quiet. They usually all were. Using cell phones on trains was a no-no, but as far as he knew, there was no such rule about simple face-to-face communication. He found the silence a little eerie sometimes, but he had learned to live with it for the most part.

Yamamoto yawned and closed his eyes. The scenery whizzing by was making him tired. He decided to take a nap and hope that he woke up at the right stop.

---

Japanese etiquette dictates that if given something, one should give something in return as a thank you. This gift is called an "okaeshi," using the kanji for "to return something." Yamamoto had given out quite a few of these gratitude presents, especially after his father had died. Many of his father's old friends and customers had watched over him until he had gotten a bit older.

Still, Yamamoto was fairly surprised when he found a gift planted in front of his door when he got back. It was wrapped in a traditional furoshiki cloth. Said cloth was patterned with pale pink sakura petals on a dark purple background.

Yamamoto opened his apartment and set the gift on the kitchen counter, giddy like a child. He wondered what kind of gift had been left for him. Maybe some delicious mochi? Judging by the shape and style of the wrap, it wasn't sake or anything of the like.

He pulled apart the simple knot that had been tied. He preferred furoshiki over wrapping paper; there was no tape to take apart, and they could be reused easily.

It turned out to be a sizeable amount of green tea powder. It was pretty good quality too; it was the type used in tea ceremonies. It was held in an airtight canister covered in nice washi paper. In conclusion, the price tag on this gift must've been huge.

The whole present down to the wrapping struck Yamamoto as very traditional. He liked it a lot. There was no name attached to the gift, but he was pretty sure he knew who it was from. After all, there were only two people he had helped lately, and the other one had already paid him for his assistance.

---

Yamamoto whistled. Hibari had _quite_ a nice residence. It looked like it was from at least the Edo period, which made it stand out among the more modern residences. He wondered if it was some sort of heirloom in Hibari's family.

He had caved. There had been no way he had been going to be able to find Hibari on his own, so he had gone to some spies and informants instead. One unfortunate soul had been badly beaten by Hibari, but that probably meant he was bad at following and should consider a new career path anyway. Anyway, Yamamoto finally got the information he wanted in a couple days time.

So here he was at the impressive home of Hibari. It was a much different setting than Yamamoto's crammed apartment. He was a little jealous.

Yamamoto wandered casually over to the entrance, taking in the zen feel he got from the place. He knocked, but not too hard. The residence had a peaceful quiet to it except for the occasional clack from the souzu when the water's weight tipped it over.

He waited for some time, but he didn't knock again. Perhaps Hibari was not here? Yamamoto was about to turn and leave when he heard the soft patter of feet on tatami floors. Hibari slid the door open soon before long.

Hibari looked just as traditional as his home. He was dressed in a plain black yukata, held together by a thin red obi. It was a nice change from the well-pressed suit Hibari wore.

"Your agent was not very good," Hibari smirked, referring to the one that had been given a thrashing. His lips then shifted into a heavy scowl. "I don't like being followed."

Yamamoto shrugged. "How else was I supposed to find you?" he asked, grinning.

Hibari did not make a move to let Yamamoto in. "What do you want?"

"I just thought your okaeshi was a little expensive, so I was feeling bad." Yamamoto put on a sheepish face and put a hand behind his head.

Hibari didn't really seem to buy it. "For someone who supposedly saved my life, it doesn't seem to be that much, does it?" he replied sarcastically.

"You said you would've been fine without me," Yamamoto protested.

"What do you want?" Hibari cut in sharply.

"I dug up an old shabu shabu pot, and I was wondering if you wanted to come over sometime. I'll make some of the tea you gave me."

Hibari raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Yamamoto shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it just gets lonely sometimes."

"We are not friends, Yamamoto Takeshi." Yamamoto felt a chill run up his spine. Ahh, the feel of rejection. He sincerely thought that Hibari was going to slide the shouji door right then and there, but he didn't. He didn't so much as move, allowing silence to settle in the air.

"That's okay." Heck if he had wanted friends over, he would've invited Gokudera and Shamal (and Uri). Which left him to wonder...why didn't he?

Change of topic. "I hear you're leading a few guys that left the Ubo group." Yamamoto's informant had muttered something about it.

"This informant of yours appears to be very adept, unlike the other one." Hibari smirked.

"What kind of work are you planning on doing?" Maybe Yamamoto would get a rival? There weren't too many like him that used Namimori as their home base. For some odd reason though, the idea of a disciplinary committee floated to his mind.

"I haven't decided."

"Good luck with that." Hibari nodded. Yamamoto found it odd that the other, while refusing his invitation, didn't make any effort to shoo him out either.

"Well," Yamamoto took a step back. If Hibari was going to be uncharacteristically patient for once, then Yamamoto would be the one to cut off first. "I won't keep you any longer." He turned around and waved. "I'll see you around, Hiba-"

"Friday, 7:00."

Yamamoto looked back, clearly shocked. "I thought you said-"

"It doesn't change."

Yamamoto grinned. "Friday at 7 then." He didn't hear the shouji door close until he had left the perimeter of the home.

---

Yamamoto wasn't going to kid himself; he was definitely attracted to Hibari. In retrospect, he was being rather obvious about it too, doing things like making up a stupid excuse just to see the other. Heck, he had even sent someone to stalk him.

He sighed and continued browsing through the grocery store, looking for good deals on meat and vegetables. It wasn't like he was still 15.

Hibari had a certain feminine appearance to him that Yamamoto appreciated. Yamamoto attributed it mostly to his eyes, although his relatively long hairstyle certainly helped in this evaluation. Yamamoto thought that Hibari had the perfect look for ionnagata/i, or the art of men impersonating and dancing as women (This was, of course, not an opinion he should or would vocalize in front of the other). He had seen a fair amount of kabuki plays, where all the actors are men, and some actors just did not have the right face shape to make convincing women.

But his delicate appearance betrayed his tough nature. Hibari was disproportionately strong when compared to his size. He got the feeling that the other had no problem in decimating those that annoyed him. Yamamoto would definitely have to be more careful in his approach. He sighed again. This was also assuming that Hibari even swung that way.

His constant loud exhales were attracting the stares of the other shoppers. When he finally realized this, he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and wandered off to another part of the store.

His mind was telling him that he was being unrealistic, there were too many obstacles in the way, but the words that poured clumsily out of his mouth kept pushing forward. He really was acting like a hormonal teen again.

Sure, he had been in a few relationships before, but they had all ended the same: his significant other at the time hadn't felt particularly close to him. After awhile, they had all come to realize that a charming smile and a boisterous laugh from Yamamoto didn't necessarily equate to sincere happiness. Not anymore. In a way, he was like Hibari in that he had trouble trusting people, although the way they manifested this characteristic differed greatly in subtlety. On the other hand, at least Hibari was blunt about what he wanted, making him comparatively easy to understand.

Maybe Yamamoto really was as inept as he had been 10 years ago.

And just like a teenage crush, he always held that small hope that things would go his way.

However small that hope was.

He sighed again.

---

He rarely visited the family grave. It wasn't that he was ungrateful, it was just that he made many excuses not to go.

For the first few months he went everyday. It was very evident to him every time he went that many people had visited. As time went on, however, the number of people had waned. Eventually, he himself stopped coming so frequently. The grave today looked unkept, and Yamamoto felt guilty. He bent down and pulled at the taller weeds encircling the headstone.

Yamamoto thought back to the months following his father's death. It had been...a lonely existence. He had quit baseball club soon after, and his former teammates had eventually given up trying to convince him to come back. He ultimately became estranged from them, as well as their coach. Instead of going to what would have been his extracurricular activity, he had sat at the gravesite every afternoon until dusk.

His father had always encouraged him to become a professional baseball player when he was younger. But most of Yamamoto's drive to do so died with his father. It wasn't that his father had been trying to live vicariously through Yamamoto or anything like that; he just hadn't realized how important all that cheering him on had been.

Yamamoto didn't like to show his face here. Had he failed his father? He often felt that way, but he just laughed and kept on his travels towards the next target. He had descended into the dark world of Japan, something his father had steered him away from. But Yamamoto hadn't known what else to do. Aside from baseball, he had had no other talents other than the way of the sword. Then, his father's old friend from his yakuza days had opened the door to this current life, introducing him to the world of assassination. The Shigure Souen style was something used for destruction, the man had said.

Today though, he was before his father, holding a new pack of incense and a lighter. He lit a stick and placed it down. Incense always had a nice scent to it. Maybe the spirits liked it too?

Yamamoto stood back up and watched the stick burn. He looked around the cemetary at other people who had come to visit loved ones. Many of them were on the older side; spouses or middle-aged children. He couldn't help feeling a little wistful when observing the age difference, wishing that he could have had more time with his old man. He turned his attention back to his father.

"Dad, I'm leaving."


	5. Chapter 5: Hit and Run

A/N: Hey guys, thanks for the reviews as always! The next chapter will be the last. Hope you read to the end! I've been thinking about a sequel, but we'll see how that goes. But in the mean time, enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 5: Hit and Run

Yamamoto had gotten the hit request the day after Hibari had accepted his invite. This one happened to be right within the urban area of Namimori.

From what he had found out through a little snooping, the man always stayed late in his office, sometimes staying overnight, which was a very convenient thing for him. The thing that was not so convenient, however, was that he had already been the target of assassination attempts in the past and was now heavily guarded these days.

The business his hit ran on the outside seemed to be quite small; the building it was situated in was only one floor, a rarity in the city area. That left the question as to how the man had managed to make enough money to afford all those men. Yamamoto figured that the hit had something to do with a financial scandal of sorts. Perhaps embezzlement?

Despite prior knowledge, he had still underestimated the amount of guard detail on this hit by just a bit. It had been easy enough to break into the building though; for the record, having lots of bodyguards doesn't necessarily mean one can skimp on an electronic security system.

The inner areas, however, were not so easy. Thankfully a quick charge and a few blows to the wrists will quickly disarm any gun wielders, who posed the greatest immediate threat. He quickly went about knocking guns out of hands and then kicking them towards the perimeter of the room. He pitied the ones who immediately went after their guns; they obviously didn't have much combat ability to fall back on. But oh well, he struck them unconscious all the same.

Yamamoto felt a short knife lodge its way into his left side from behind, just next to the shoulder blade. He gritted his teeth and hit the ground, taken off guard, but he recovered by quickly by rolling away from the mob. The knife was still implanted in his back; he didn't have time to dislodge it.

He ran in and delivered a high kick to one man's chin, sending him reeling backwards. He grasped Shigure Kintoki with both hands, although his left shoulder was screaming at him with every small movement, and continued the process of knocking as many of his opponents out of the way as possible while making a beeline to his target.

Yamamoto didn't have much time. The pain in his shoulder was starting to overwhelm his left arm, and he wasn't sure he could continue fighting with one out of commission. The rest of the henchmen that hadn't been rendered unconscious, meanwhile, had figured out that if they continued to agitate the wound area, then well, Yamamoto definitely wouldn't be able to make out alive.

Yamamoto brought the sword up. Shibuki Ame, he thought to himself, and he spun around, throwing back the encroaching mob. He felt a little dizzy from the move as well as the blood loss, but he charged forward, accidentally stepping on some fallen guy's face in the process. Oops.

His target was just now in the process of escaping. Yamamoto had to wonder what had taken him so long; his henchmen had taken Yamamoto a while to break through. In one solid motion, Yamamoto delivered a deep diagonal slash to the chest. It was just like in the old samurai shows he used to watch, but it was practice that ensured that it was a one-hit kill. The target fell backwards, clutching the wound. He made choking noises as the blood began to fill his lungs. He wouldn't make it to the hospital.

Yamamoto shattered the nearby window with his good shoulder, covering his head with his corresponding forearm. He swiped at the bottom with his sword to break off the large shards of glass still jutting up. He hopped out, thankful that it was a fairly large window and that he was on the first floor.

He ran off into the night.

---

Yamamoto was careful not to drip blood on the floors; his shirt, however, was not so spotless. Luckily he had come back at a good time; the last trains had already brought any drunkards back home, so no one had seen him.

He burst into his doorway, hunched over and breathing hard. Yamamoto staggered to his bathroom, got into the shower, and turned the water on. He reached over with his right hand and dislodged the knife from his back with a grunt of pain. He let it drop from his hand to the floor in front of him. It made a loud clatter before coming to rest in the blood-water mix.

Yamamoto struggled to get his clothes off with one hand. The shower was dousing him with water, and his wound stung like hell. He dumped his wet jacket on the shower floor, followed shortly by his shirt. The water from the shower ran smoothly down the drain, but not before collecting blood from his body and discarded garments along the way.

He kept himself propped up by one hand. His left side still screamed in pain. He was dizzy, he was breathing hard, he was panicking just a little. He felt a bit thirsty; was he going into shock? It had been such a small knife, but he was bleeding so profusely. Why hadn't he gone directly to Shamal?

_Stay calm_, he ordered in his own mind, just like he always did. Everything was fine, he tried to convince himself. He kicked everything out of the way and laid down in the tub, his face directly under the showerhead. His knees were bent, and his feet were planted flat against the shower walls because of his height. He shut his eyes.

The water pouring down felt like the rain. It was a calming sensation to him, even though he had every right to be frantic given the huge gash turning the water red. He ignored his current predicament, fading away. It felt as though time was slowing; he could distinguish every droplet splashing on him.

It had been raining hard the day his father had died. It had been tsuyu, the muggy summer rainy season. He had been sprawled out on the school's rooftop much like this, holding an arm over his face. He had wanted so much to disappear, to have the rain wash him away. But it didn't. It only took the tears. And by the time he had left his spot on the roof, he had run out of them, feeling like an empty, soggy shell trudging down the stairs.

To most people, that kind of memory wouldn't seem to be very soothing, but it was for Yamamoto. It reminded him heavily of his father. He had lost a certain sense of calm after his father's death, taking on a dangerous profession. He always associated those carefree days and the dreams of baseball with his father. It was tranquil to him, like the steady flow of rain falling from an overcast sky.

Yamamoto's right hand grabbed at the bathtub's edge, and he used it as leverage to get up. Extraneous droplets of water fell from the tips of his bangs and into his eyes, stinging them. He shut off the shower.

He couldn't die. Even if the pain was enough to wish for death, just like on that day, he had to stay alive. He was waiting for the rain to take him.

He left his clothes in the shower and grabbed a towel. He did a quick job of drying himself off, then held the towel over his wound and applied pressure. He'd probably have to bleach the towel later. He sucked in a breath at the pain.

Yamamoto dug out his first aid kit with his left hand despite his upper muscles' protests. His right hand, in the meantime, never left the towel. He opened up the kit and brought out a surgical needle donated by Shamal, some fishing wire, and a pair scissors.

The needle itself was curved, which Yamamoto found kind of cool. He held the pointed end between his teeth and after much trouble, managed to thread it. Fishing wire definitely wasn't the standard, but he couldn't tie suture knots closed because he wouldn't be able to reach. He used his teeth and free hand to tie a few simple knots on one end of the wire to make sure it didn't slip through his skin.

He went back into the bathroom and let the towel drop to the floor. Yamamoto turned his back to the mirror for a better view. Using his own reflection, he poked precariously beneath the skin, wincing at the pain in the already agitated area. The needle resurfaced on the other side of the gash.

Yamamoto continued this process until he had made a crossed pattern in the shape of uneven and misshapen x's. Leaving a couple inches hanging, he cut the other end of the wire.

Next, he applied some rubbing alcohol using cotton balls. He dabbed gently, but it still stung as soon as it touched skin. The cotton balls were stained red when he tossed them into the trash.

Yamamoto put a gauze pad over the wound, balancing it on his back so that it didn't slide off as he got the bandages together. The gauze and bandages made his mind briefly wander to Hibari, who had refused them for some unknown reason. He held the end of the bandages between his teeth, just like the needle, and carefully unrolled it, weaving under his arm and over his shoulder several times at various angles. When he was done, he tucked the ends in underneath the wrap.

It would have to do for now. He'd go see Shamal about it tomorrow. He hobbled over to his futon and laid down, too tired to put on clothes. His pillow started absorbing the water from his still-wet hair, and he sighed.

How long could he keep doing this? He seemed to be getting more careless as time went on, and that of course correlated with the severity of his wounds.

From what he had heard, getting out of the assassination business could prove to be tricky. Laying down one's weapon could instantly make them the next target due to grudges, or a fear of people squealing once they had gone clean. Besides, without mentioning his only job experience, he would look like an unskilled bum. Hadn't gone to college and (supposedly) hadn't worked in the last few years. He was half proficient in making sushi, but that wasn't good enough either. He'd probably be stuck as a convenience store worker for a long time. Although he didn't really like this constantly getting injured bit, he didn't think being a store worker would keep him entertained for very long anyway. He'd be smiling fake smiles all day, just like he was now, pretending like he wanted to help people with their trivial purchases.

He had tossed away his chances at being normal a long time ago.

It seemed that for many assassins, there was only one way out: a lonely death.

He pulled up the covers and went to sleep on his uninjured side.

---

"Not bad I guess," Shamal commented on the stitches. "They served their purpose well enough. It'll probably be better to give you real ones though. How's your arm?"

"It moves okay," Yamamoto replied, although it hurt to move it too much. "I don't think the knife hit anything vital."

Shamal nodded and went back to making preparations for the stitching.

Gokudera leaned back against his workstation. "Getting yourself killed again, huh?" He felt the miniscule tension from the stitches disappear as Shamal snipped them in half.

"Something like that," Yamamoto laughed. Gokudera sighed at his idiocy and lit another cigarette. Uri hissed from under Gokudera's desk.

"You still owe me a trip to a hostess club," Shamal complained. "I think this fix up should count for another one too."

"Dirty pervert," Gokudera muttered under his breath.

"Psh," Shamal retorted. Then he whispered to Yamamoto not-so discretely, "Just because he's leaving, he thinks he can insult me as much as he likes. Well, I say good riddance!"

Gokudera seethed. "What was that?"

"By the way," Yamamoto interjected, raising his voice. The two turned to look at him. "I've decided to accept Reborn's offer."

Gokudera and Shamal both looked equally shocked.

"Right, I forgot about that," Gokudera commented, recovering first. "I'll let my boss know." Gokudera looked at his watch and calculated the time difference in his head to make sure he wouldn't be waking them up. He grabbed his phone and moved to the other room, Uri close behind.

"Any particular reason why?" Shamal asked once Gokudera's voice could be heard.

Yamamoto rubbed at his injured back. "I'll probably be dead before 30 if I continue like this."

"Personally, I think you're just in a slump," Shamal shrugged, "but I don't disagree with your decision.

"Your work with the Vongola though," he began, "might be something along the same lines. Are you really okay with that?"

"They call it a 'family' right? I've forgotten what that's like." Shamal said no more.

---

Shabu shabu turned out to be an ingenious idea. Yamamoto hadn't considered this, but Hibari couldn't critique his cooking this way. The only thing that he could possibly take issue with was the tea.

Shamal had given him a sling for his arm just in case, but Yamamoto wasn't using it. He didn't really think it was necessary as long as he didn't over exert it. The stitches would come off in a couple of days with any luck. Yamamoto rubbed at his left shoulder, but stopped when Hibari eyed him suspiciously.

"How is the tea?" Yamamoto asked, trying to divert attention. Hibari's bird was perched on his kitchen counter singing that same song as before.

Hibari plucked a piece of beef from the pot. "It's fine."

The two of them ate quietly, never taking each other's food. Yamamoto wasn't deterred by the silence. It just seemed to be the way Hibari operated. A man of few words. Yamamoto kind of liked that.

Yamamoto put down his bowl of rice. "I've decided to move to Italy next week."

He had packed up most of his things already, working fast despite his shoulder injury. The boxes had either already been transferred over to Gokudera and Shamal's place, or they were currently hiding out in his bedroom. He was slowly going through the process of throwing out or giving away unnecessary things.

Hibari, in response, put down his chopsticks, neat and together just as before. "And why are you telling me this?" Hibari asked coolly.

Yamamoto shrugged. "I know we're not friends," he spoke, "but I guess I just felt like telling you." Yamamoto picked up his chopsticks again and went back to eating his rice while watching Hibari in his peripheral vision.

Hibari did not move. He was staring at the pot of boiling water, although his eyes appeared disinterested. Yamamoto had to give the other credit for sitting in the seiza position the whole time; that had been an unpleasant experience in his kendo lessons from his father. He much preferred sitting cross-legged.

"Why?"

"I need to get away from things. Start over, you know?" What was Hibari thinking? He didn't know. He found the mystery very intriguing, like a game. That too, was part of the attraction.

"Leaving the assassination business?"

"Well, we'll see. I'm joining the mafia."

Hibari took a sip of tea. "In that case, why not join the yakuza?"

Yamamoto fell back onto the floor behind him. Hibari shot him a look of annoyance at the lack of formality but let it go. Yamamoto laughed. "I promised my old man I wouldn't...although I guess what I'm doing now is not much better."

"And your father has no opinion about the mafia?" Hibari asked, one eyebrow raised. He was skeptical, Yamamoto could tell. The mafia were sort of along the same lines as the yakuza...they just had different locations of operation.

Yamamoto shrugged. "I don't know. He's gone now."

"...I'm sorry," Hibari told him, although Yamamoto felt that the apology probably had more to do with Japanese etiquette rather than actual regret. He was fine with that though.

"It's been awhile," Yamamoto told him, staring up at the ceiling. Hibari said nothing.

"Hey, Hibari..." Yamamoto sat up suddenly, "Why don't you come to Italy with me?"

"I have no interest in leaving," Hibari replied stoically.

"It was worth a shot," Yamamoto said, shrugging and laughing. "Okay, next question..."

"What makes you think I want to play games with you?" Hibari interrupted.

"I guess you don't have to answer if you don't want to." Yamamoto pretended to consider things, one hand stroking his chin as if in deep thought. "I was just wondering why you decided to accept my invite to dinner."

"Well, you offered."

"That's not a good reason," Yamamoto replied, amused. He sat up. "You said no first."

"I changed my mind."

"Yeah, but why?" Yamamoto pushed.

"Is there a reason I should have refused? Perhaps I should be asking why you invited me instead," Hibari told him sharply.

Yamamoto laughed nervously. "Ah, that is-"

Hibari grabbed him by the front of the shirt. "Maybe I should bite you to death."

"Well, why do you think I invited you?"

Yamamoto winced as he was shoved into the side of his couch. His wound protested the force of the impact.

"I have no idea."

Yamamoto blinked at him. "You really don't?"

Hibari looked very much annoyed at that question, as though he felt he was being mocked. "I dislike crowding, and yet you keep approaching me. Its infuriating."

"You didn't have to agree," Yamamoto grinned.

"That's the most irritating thing of all."

Yamamoto was surprised to hear Hibari actually admit to coming of his own volition.

"Hibari, you-" He was cut off by the other shoving him to the floor. "Ouch, easy," Yamamoto groaned, right hand moving up to cradle his injured side. Hibari hovered over him.

"Shut up." Hibari gripped Yamamoto's left shoulder and pressed hard. He didn't grab it spot on, but it was enough to make Yamamoto wince. "This?"

"I got injured on the job," Yamamoto told him with his usual grin, as though it was nothing big. Hibari seemed displeased but finally relented after a few awkward moments, and Yamamoto sat back up.

He shivered when slender fingers ran over the fabric where his stitched wound was underneath. The appendages were warm due to the residual heat from the now forgotten shabu shabu pot.

"I need a favor from you, Hibari." The hand pulled away.

"Oh?"

Yamamoto reached into one of his pants pockets and pulled out an envelope. It looked like it had a bit of weight to it as the top was warped downwards by gravity. "Here." He offered it to Hibari.

"What is it?" Hibari took it from his grasp.

"It's the key and address to my old man's restaurant." Yamamoto rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry to trouble you, but...could you check up on it from time to time? I won't be able to take care of it since I'm leaving."

Hibari observed the package in his hand for a bit longer. "You must have been close." He placed the envelope in his suit's inner pocket.

"It was a long time ago."

"And yet you still think of him."

Yamamoto blinked. That had been an uncharacteristically observant statement from Hibari. It had sounded poetic, even.

Hibari checked his watch. "I should be going." He caught Hibird's attention, which soon flew over to its usual shoulder perch.

"Ah." The two of them stood up together. Yamamoto followed Hibari to the door.

"Is this goodbye?" Yamamoto asked. Hibari said nothing. "Maybe I'll see you again," Yamamoto told him, smiling.

Hibari nodded and turned to start his walk down the hallway.

The other hadn't taken a full two steps before, "Wait." Yamamoto grabbed Hibari's arm, and the other stopped and turned to look at him. It didn't register in Yamamoto's mind at all that his hand wasn't being brushed off.

"I," he hesitated, "I didn't answer your question."

"No, you didn't."

In a moment, Yamamoto threw caution into the wind. He had weighed everything in his head. Even if things went bad, he was only here for one more week anyway, he had reasoned to himself moments before his hands clasped Hibari's cheeks and Yamamoto brought their lips together forcefully. He trapped Hibari between him and the doorway.

Seconds later, Hibari brought his hand up and punched Yamamoto on the side of the head. Hard. He didn't even need the tonfas to make it hurt. Yamamoto didn't have time to catch himself, and he collided painfully with the floor. His brain wasn't sure whether to have him cradle the back of his head or his face first.

The momentary stars in Yamamoto's eyes blocked his vision, but he heard the sounds of Hibird's wings flapping furiously and Hibari's calm footsteps walking down the hallway. The latter noise didn't run, but they didn't hesitate either. And Hibari himself said nothing.

Even though he had thought it all out in his mind, the rejection still stung.

Yamamoto sat up and sighed, holding his cheek. The water from the pot had already boiled down to nothing.


	6. Final Chapter: The Flow of Rain

A/N: This is the final chapter, readers. Thanks for reading till the end! I'm so happy so many of you gave positive reviews and showed interest in my fic. ^^ Please enjoy!

**The Flow of Rain**

Kusakabe had never heard Hibari slam the shouji door closed so loudly before. He was worried the wood would splinter from the sheer force.

"Are you alright, Kyo-san?" Hibari had said nothing of where he had been going out to.

"I'm fine." He walked right past Kusakabe and went straight into his room.

'Damnit,' Hibari cursed in his head. 'I didn't think-' he cut the thought off before it could be finished. He'd deny it as much possible.

He still felt the weight of the key in his pocket. Even the kiss still seemed to linger on him.

Hibari hadn't thought he'd get so attached.

He was angry at Yamamoto for making him so confused. He hated it. He had wanted to beat the other to a pulp and be rid of him, but he hadn't been able to do it after throwing the first punch.

"Is this about that visitor?" Kusakabe asked. Silence. "Kyo-sa-"

"I need some advice." Hibari clenched his fists, back facing his subordinate.

Kusakabe blinked. That was a rare occurrence. Hibari usually preferred his own instincts. "About?"

"I have never felt this way about anyone, ever." He spat the words out so roughly, yet they were filled with things other than disgust.

Kusakabe recovered from his shock quickly. So even Hibari was susceptible to love.

---

The stitches were being undone by Shamal. Gokudera had gone off to run a few last errands before the trip home.

"What the hell were you doing? Boxing matches?" the doctor complained, poking at Yamamoto's bruised face.

Yamamoto smiled and rubbed at his cheek. "It certainly turned into that." Shamal rolled his eyes.

"You ready to leave this place?"

Yamamoto shrugged. "I guess so."

"Doesn't sound like you're very happy about your career advancement."

"I don't know what to make of it."

"The Vongola are good people. You'll be in good hands." Shamal conveniently forgot to mention that the family atmosphere was also often totally insane.

"I'm not worried about that," Yamamoto replied. "I'm just wondering if I have everything in order here."

"Regrets?"

"A lot of them."

"What is it, your old man again?" Although it was true that Shamal was often a dirty pervert, there was no doubt that he had many years of wisdom on him. He was a retired assassin, and he had reaped a fair share of lives in his days. Yamamoto also found it surprisingly easy to talk to him.

"Listen," Shamal began. He clapped his hands on Yamamoto's shoulders. "You lost your folks at a young age so you never figured this out, but lots of kids grow up without meeting their parents' expectations."

"I know."

"But their parents love them all the same." Shamal shrugged. "But don't ask me; I hate kids." When he said that, he pointed to Gokudera's desk and made an exasperated face. Yamamoto chuckled at that.

Shamal continued, "Look, your father sounds like a good guy. I don't think he wanted you to be a baseball player no matter what. He just wanted you to be happy."

"And if I'm not?"

"Well, that's why you're leaving, isn't it?"

"I guess so."

Shamal patted him on the back. "Good. Anything else Dr. Shamal can help you with? Illegal drugs? Breast implants? Love advice maybe?"

Yamamoto laughed. "That last one sounds good."

"Oh?" Shamal seemed interested. "You know, you could always send her to me..."

"I don't think she'd like that very much." Yamamoto left off the fact that it was actually a 'he.'

"Hmph, fine. Don't share." Shamal pretended to look indignant.

"Well, I'm leaving anyway," Yamamoto stated, more to himself, "It's probably best to leave as it is."

"I know what you mean. I must have broken thousands of hearts when I left," Shamal said, making overdramatic motions of distressed girls with his arms. "Ah, I regret it whenever I think about it."

"I thought you were here because you got kicked out for hitting on a queen or something."

"I can still have regrets can't I?!" Shamal exclaimed.

"Like what?" Yamamoto asked, clearly amused. "That you didn't hit on more women?"

"Exactly!" Yamamoto fell over laughing.

---

Yamamoto was standing in the former Takesushi again, spare key in hand. To his surprise though, the place had been thoroughly dusted and cleaned.

Hibari was going to watch over it as asked.

Yamamoto closed his eyes and inhaled. The restaurant still held the pleasant smell of the wood it was constructed from after all these years. If he imagined hard enough, the scent of fish and tea wafted through as well. It was nostalgic. Memories with his father began to float to mind. All the times they had played catch, all the times they had worked behind the sushi counter together...they were all there.

There was one more memory that rose to his mind. It was out of place with the rest. The time he had had sushi with Hibari.

Hibari was an enigma to him. The guy had punched him the face and then turned around and cleaned his father's restaurant. He could have just returned the key.

He'd never figure that guy out. And it would take some time, but maybe he could at least forget him.

Yamamoto opened his eyes. "I'll be back."

He set the painting of the swallow down in its original spot and left. It belonged there.

---

"Relationships require some patience," Kusakabe told Hibari sagely. He and his boss were having their usual tea time after a highly unusual visit to an abandoned restaurant.

"I have none." Well, that was true.

"Do you think he is worth pursuing?"

"I don't know."

"I think that you should try."

Hibari glared. "And what makes you say that?"

"Kyo-san, I have never seen you go out of your way for anyone else until very recently."

"What is your point?"

Kusakabe poured more tea into their cups. "You allowed yourself to change for him. And it was not just today." Kusakabe recalled being ordered by Hibari to go out and buy a series of very expensive items. Hibari had been specific about what he had wanted, and Kusakabe had been surprised to learn they were to be components of his boss' okaeshi. Such thoughtfulness had struck Kusakabe as incredibly uncharacteristic.

Hibari was silent, considering these words with a complicated face. He had probably not realized the extent of the peculiarity of his actions till now. Hibird, who was situated on its usual shoulder perch, was peering at its master curiously with its beady eyes.

To be completely honest, Kusakabe didn't want Hibari to give up. He had known his boss for more than a decade now, and not too many people viewed him favorably, much less cared about him on a personal level. Furthermore, Kusakabe had never met this man, but at the same time, he figured there must have been something special there to catch the attention of his boss. All Hibari needed now was a push.

"What is he to you?" Kusakabe continued.

"He is..." Hibari looked away, gazing at the garden revealed through the open shouji doors. "...my equal."

---

It was windy on the tarmac. The Vongola head had sent a private jet for them. Gokudera had already chewed Yamamoto out for taking so many boxes of stuff, saying that it was a burden to The Tenth.

"I didn't get my trips to a hostess club!" Shamal cried. Shamal wasn't directly related to the Vongola, so he would be staying in Japan. Gokudera had already tried to shove Uri on him, and Uri had already retaliated and caused him injury. No, the stupid cat would be leaving too. Shamal and Gokudera had already done their awkward good-byes, as both cared about each other deeply but were too macho and/or stupid to admit to such a thing.

"Haha, sorry about that," Yamamoto laughed. "When I come back to visit, okay?" Shamal sniffled.

"Hey Giannini, we ready to roll yet?" Gokudera shouted to the pilot.

"A-almost!" Giannini appeared from behind the jet. "I'm just tinkering with it a bit."

The cigarette in Gokudera's mouth almost fell out. "What?!" Obviously he didn't think this was a good idea.

Giannini skittered out of view before he could be further berated. Gokudera seethed, bending his cigarette between his teeth. Yamamoto laughed.

Gokudera squinted off into the distance. "Che, it's that guy."

Yamamoto turned around and tried to focus his eyes on the distant figure walking casually in their direction. "How...?"

"He came over to my place a couple days ago, making a big ruckus," Shamal explained. That probably explained the huge bruise on Shamal's face. It sort of matched the one that Yamamoto had received.

"He came and demanded information," Gokudera told Yamamoto, then went back to muttering things under his breath.

"And then that stupid cat tried to eat his bird, so he decided to try and destroy the place!" Shamal groaned, but he quickly turned it into a devious grin. "But I got him back good. Just wait till the next hanami." He rubbed his hands together evilly.

Yamamoto almost didn't hear them over the roar of the engine starting. He ran out to meet Hibari further down the tarmac.

"Yamamoto Takeshi," Hibari greeted once their distance had closed, Hibird on his shoulder like always.

"I...I didn't think you wanted to see me again," Yamamoto told him sheepishly.

"Who wants to see you? Maybe I just felt like taking a walk," Hibari replied, cool as ever. It was like last Friday had been forgotten.

Yamamoto laughed. "You're awfully far from Namimori to be taking a stroll."

"Perhaps."

"Hey! We have to get going!" Gokudera shouted over the huge amounts of noise.

"Okay!" Yamamoto called back.

Yamamoto lurched forward suddenly as Hibari grabbed the junction of his tie and jerked hard. Their faces were at the same level now.

"You asked why I agreed to go to dinner." Oh right, he had asked that, hadn't he?

"Yeah, ac-"

Hibari reeled Yamamoto in further and crushed their lips together violently. It was clumsy and rough, but neither participant seemed to mind.

The so-called kiss only lasted a few precious seconds. "My answer," Hibari murmured, his face still in close proximity and eyes dangerous as ever, "is the same as yours, probably."

Yamamoto was dumbstruck, but Hibari just smirked and released his grip on the other's clothing.

"I guess I've found a good way to shut you up," Hibari taunted while pulling out a business card and holding it out between two fingers. There was some writing on it, probably extra contact information. "Keep in touch." Yamamoto shook his head a couple times to get out of his stupor and snatched it up.

"Does this mean we're..." Yamamoto scratched his head. There was no real graceful way to phrase it. "Umm...together?"

"Think what you will."

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then."

"Hmm." Hibari straightened his tie, composed and in control as usual. "Be faithful," he told Yamamoto, a casual drawl in his voice but a challenging look on his face. He wasn't joking about that one.

"Can I have a proper kiss before I leave?" Yamamoto asked, feeling a bit too giddy right now to care about overstepping intangible bounds.

Hibari frowned. "And what does that entail?"

"Oh," Yamamoto blinked. "Like this."

Hibari eyed Yamamoto's arm suspiciously as it curled around his waist and pulled him against the other. Yamamoto kissed Hibari again, although this time with much less force. He made this one last, sealing their mouths together for as long as he could. As he pulled away, he nibbled at Hibari's lower lip.

"I guess a 'proper kiss' is better..." Hibari stated, his eyes not quite meeting Yamamoto's. It was quite cute, and Yamamoto laughed.

The Vongola jet revved its engines again.

"I...guess I should go." Hibari simply nodded.

"Are..." Yamamoto hesitated, "Are you sure you don't want to come with me?"

"That decision does not change."

"I understand," Yamamoto replied, although he was a bit disappointed. Still, he couldn't expect the other to drop everything in a matter of minutes. "I'll come back and visit as soon as I can," he promised.

"Goodbye, Yamamoto Takeshi."

Yamamoto slid his arm off Hibari's waist and stepped back. And he smiled at the other, a mixture of reluctance and hope contained within his expression. "See you around, Hibari." Hibird flapped its wings furiously, as if waving goodbye to him. "You too, Hibird," he laughed.

He ran back towards the jet, but he had been looking back most of the way. It was a wonder that he hadn't crashed straight into the wheels.

"Come on, Gokudera," Yamamoto laughed. Gokudera's face had gone pale, and the cigarette had fallen from his open mouth. Shamal didn't seem particularly stunned, at least not to the extent of Gokudera. He just chuckled and patted Yamamoto on the back, saying, "See you around, kiddo."

"W-wait for me!" Gokudera suddenly exclaimed, scrambling up the stairs onto the jet. Yamamoto and Uri followed him on. Shamal moved back from the jet.

"So...you and him, huh?" Gokudera asked awkwardly.

"Yeah, I guess so," Yamamoto replied, grinning like a kid with candy.

"You guess s-nevermind." Gokudera reached for a new cigarette. He didn't want to know.

"Prepare for take off!" The man who was apparently known as Giannini exclaimed.

"You ready to join the Vongola family?" Gokudera questioned once he had lit up.

Yamamoto grinned. "I sure hope so."

He turned to gaze out the window, and his eyes didn't move from that spot until the clouds had covered up Japan. For some reason, Hibari floated to mind whenever he thought about clouds, and the idea of the other conquering Japan made him chuckle a bit. Gokudera had shot him a suspicious look for that.

Yamamoto felt a little sad to be going to Italy. He was leaving behind a lot. Friends like Shamal, Hibari, his old man. At the same time, he saw the necessity of getting away. He couldn't stay or he'd be drowned by his self-pity and his past choices. At one point in time, he wouldn't have minded that, but he didn't want it anymore.

While standing in Takesushi, he had promised to himself that he'd get stronger. For everyone he was leaving behind. He didn't want to feel helpless like the day his father had died ever again. He'd gain the strength behind the flow of rain; the ability, he believed, to wash away tears, pain, and even his own regrets.

--- Epilogue ---

~One year later~

"What's the report for today, Reborn?" Sawada Tsunayoshi swiveled around in his chair.

"The Cavallone family has found us a new recruit."

"Dino? Why would he do that?"

"He says that the person expressed a very pointed interest in joining the Vongola." Reborn slipped the file to Tsuna.

"Hibari Kyouya." Tsuna shivered a bit. "He looks kind of scary. What is your recommendation, Reborn?"

"I think he could be an invaluable addition to the family. From what I understand, he has exceptional combat ability, possibly better than Yamamoto's. He also has his own group of men."

"Hmmm," Tsuna looked over the file a bit more in depth. "Why request us though? The Cavallone family is also a very respectable family, and they have some ground in Japan."

Reborn held in a sigh. Tsuna was only intuitive regarding certain matters.

"I believe there are some ulterior motives involved, Tsuna."

"Like what? Spying?"

"No, something of the more...amorous nature."

Tsuna's cheeks tinged a bit pink. "Where did you get an idea like that, Reborn?" He shook it off. "Anyway," he cleared his throat, "I will fly him up for an interview at your recommendation. Is that all?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well, you are dismissed." Reborn nodded and placed his fedora back on his head before leaving.

Things were getting interesting around here.


End file.
